Drink With Me, My Love
by what-is-a-social-life
Summary: For there's fire in the sky, and there's ice upon the ground; either way my soul will die. Sansa, Tyrion, and things never thought possible. [prequel to "it's like some kind of clarity"]


**DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I am only a fan, playing homage to a good series (Even if I kind of hated the last episode). The title and summary come from "The Duel" from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812.**

**A/N: This is like all dialogue and I apologize for it. Kind of. This is my first take writing Sansa and Tyrion, so let me know what you think!**

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"Sansa, you are making me nervous," Tyrion said.

She supposed this was fair.

She couldn't exactly tell Tyrion about Jon's parentage standing on the battlements, so she had taken his hand and pulled him through the keep, slow enough that he could keep up with his short legs without running, but fast enough to move them quickly and force people out of their way. It was nothing like holding his hand in the crypt had been, so much less emotion behind it, but yet she felt content with it, like their hands fit together quite well. A stupid thought, but one easier to dwell on than Jon being a Targaryen.

Once they were in her chambers, she locked the door and went straight to the table, a decanter of Dornish Red sitting there, waiting for them. She poured two cups and pushed one immediately across the table, waiting for Tyrion to take it as she took a long sip from her own.

"I thought you didn't drink wine, unless you had to."

"Since becoming Lady of Winterfell, I find I often have to. Perhaps that makes me like your sister."

"I think, perhaps, it makes you more like me then you may realize."

"Good. I think it's about time you let the rest of us be as smart as you," she replied, taking another sip of her wine. He chuckled.

"You're much smarter than you're giving yourself credit for." He set his cup down, eyeing her intently. "Who is your other option? You? While I would happily take you as my queen, you must have no desire to return to King's Landing."

"You would support me as queen?" she said, raising her eyebrows. He shrugged, finally picking up his cup.

"You have the loyalty of the North and the Vale. The Riverlands, once liberated from Lannister occupation, would surely follow you as well, if your uncle has any sense. As long as you give Highgarden to Ser Bronn, I can't see you running into too many problems. You are brilliant, you listen to your advisors, you care for your people. It would be a compelling argument, to say the least."

"That's not what this is about." She took a seat, indicating for him to do the same. "Robert's Rebellion was a lie."

"What?"

She told the story as Bran did, as Jon confirmed. By the time she reached the end, Tyrion was deep in thought, staring down at his wine. She waited until he was ready. It took her time to process as well, and she was still not there yet.

"Why should I believe you?" he said, looking back into her eyes. His voice was void of emotion; she couldn't tell if he actually didn't believe her or if he was testing her. "How do I know this is true?"

"You can ask Bran, if you must, or send a raven to Greywater Watch; Lord Howland Reed is the only other survivor of the Tower of Joy and I am sure he knows the truth. But you knew my father, Tyrion, even if only through his reputation. He was an honorable man. What makes more sense: Ned Stark getting a bastard on a woman just after marrying my mother, even though he barely knew my mother at the time, or honoring the dying wish of the beloved sister he had gone to war for?"

He took a long drag from his goblet, and she had her answer.

"What you suggest borders on treason."

"He is Rhaegar's son, and older than her regardless. Succession here has always followed the firstborn's children before the siblings. And he has proven himself as a leader to the people of Westeros."

"To the people of the North."

"That's more than she has done. We couldn't have survived the Night King without her forces; I know this. But the North wouldn't have had any forces at all if Jon hadn't united the Night's Watch and the Wildlings, if he hadn't taken back Winterfell, and then every single one of us would be dead."

"And he couldn't have taken back Winterfell without the Knights of the Vale, which you brought him," Tyrion said with a twisted smile. "And you wondered why I thought you were pitching yourself as queen."

"Then we should marry them. They already love each other, and Targaryens have always been an incestuous family. No one has to know. They can rule together."

"It is certainly the best option," he agreed, frowning. "I do not know if the Queen would allow him to be King. Prince Consort, maybe."

"Screw the titles, screw who truly sits on the Throne; I don't care. I care about seeing Cersei killed, and someone has to take over for her. Jon is the logical solution, but if it has to be as Daenerys' Prince Consort, then fine. Even though he has the stronger claim if his parentage is brought forward. Even though his allies do not fear him. Even though his people listen to him."

"Except for when he bent the knee. Then they all despised him." She sat farther back in her seat, well aware he had won that point.

"I assume you are going to tell Lord Varys about this conversation?"

"I can't exactly tell Grey Worm or Missandei, because then she will know that I know. I won't tell her unless I need to. Lord Varys will help me decide if I need to. I merely worry for her. She has lost so much."

"As have I." She smiled softly at him. "It's odd, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That the two of us are here, sharing wine and political conversation. I certainly did not expect it," she said, taking a sip.

"Neither did I. There was one moment during our marriage when I thought maybe we had a chance."

"When was that?" she asked, watching as his attention remained firmly placed on the wine in his cup.

"When we walked through the gardens and you told me about sheep shifting." A small laugh escaped her lips as she remembered that day, their stroll through the gardens and the lightness she'd felt in her chest."The Disgraced Daughter and the Demon Monkey," he recalled.

"We're perfect for each other," she answered and they laughed together. She could see color appear on Tyrion's cheeks, and, for some reason, she took pleasure in it. She smiled, running her finger along the rim of her cup.

"It's been a long time since I've heard you jest like this," he said after a moment.

"If you can't jest at the end of the world, then when can you?"

"We survived that."

"It seems so wrong. They defeated Death itself, and now you march back to fight Cersei? Death is the first enemy, isn't it? It feels wrong for it to not be the last."

"Cersei was mine. Yours, too."

"We won't be the ones fighting her."

"Yes. We are too valuable to be in the line of fire," Tyrion said, bitterness in his voice, but it was erased with another wry smile. "We should have guessed about the crypts."

"Jon could've told us the Others didn't have to have been the ones to kill them in the first place to bring them back. I'd assumed most of their army were Wildlings and such that had died at his command. If I had known I would have to fight my father, I wouldn't have been in the crypt." She paused, looking up at him. "You sent my father's bones here, didn't you? While you were Hand?"

"I did. Maybe it's for the best his sword didn't join him. Fighting a wight with a Valyrian Steel sword would have been a problem." She snorted, taking a small sip of her wine.

"But thank you, for doing that. I am sure it brought my mother comfort to know he would get to rest here."

"You are welcome. Speaking of the crypts, I should apologize if I offended you in any way."

"Offend me? I wasn't offended by your bitterness, Tyrion. I understand wanting to feel useful. My sister killed the Night King. It's hard to not feel useless compared to her. Or Jon, who rode a dragon, or Bran, who is responsible for the history of the Andals and the First Men. I keep people fed."

"It is less glamorous, for certain, but much more important, especially in winter and in peace. You are a good lady, Sansa. The best Winterfell could have. But no, that is not what I referred to. I wanted to apologize for how I kissed you. It was too forward of me."

"I wouldn't have let you do it if I didn't want you to," she said, and Tyrion sat up straighter at that. "I am not a bird any longer. I do not perform for others. I have suffered too much for that."

"You were a brilliant performer. I am glad you have been able to redirect your energies towards protecting others rather than yourself, but you mustn't forget that, either. You are important to whatever comes next. You would not still be here if you were not."

"Why have you always believed in me?" she asked after a moment. She was a child when they met, a stupid child who wanted to be Queen and provide Joffrey with lots of children as was expected of her. But she was not that girl anymore. She was made of steel. If he had met this her first, she would understand his sentiment; she was powerful, intelligent, beautiful according to the whispers of admirers within the walls. But he had seen it all, and had always fought for her, even before they married, even when he had no reason to. He didn't have to fight the king, but he always had, and especially for her.

"I have always had a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things. But you are not broken anymore, Sansa. You have sewn yourself back together with skill and precision and intelligence is your armor now rather than courtesy. You may not be what you were before you came south, but you are admirable regardless. Maybe even more so."

She reached out and took his hand for the first time. In King's Landing, he had taken hers for comfort, as he had in the crypts. She had liked the anchor then. It felt better now. He knew her better than almost anyone else. He had always seen through her and admired what he saw there. She was a child then, but she was a woman now. He didn't scare her anymore, because she was getting to know him, too.

"Tell me what happened after I left you," she said quietly.

"Why?"

"You know my story. I want to know yours. Prove to me why Daenerys is worthy of sitting on the Iron Throne, with or without Jon at her side. I have made my case. It is your turn."

"Lady Stark, you may survive us yet," he murmured, a small smile on his face.

As he said it, a look passed over his face that she couldn't quite decipher. Respect, certainly. Admiration, maybe. Love, possibly. Her stomach tightened at that thought. His face in the crypt had been devotion. It had been dark and sometimes it was hard to make out his full expression, but he had been in awe of her as they hid and then killed the few wights they had to before they all dropped. They had walked out of the crypt together, clinging to each other for dear life. It had felt like a loss when he'd stepped away, telling her to go find her family, and she'd taken off for the godswood. She had thought it was merely relief washing over her that the battle was over, a weight off her shoulders and it was, but maybe there was a loss, too. Maybe he had become more to her than she realized. Everything had happened so quickly since the Queen and Jon had returned. It was easy to talk with him. He listened to her more than her own brother- cousin- did. He wasn't what she had imagined for herself, once upon a time, but maybe, if he survived, if pressure began mounting for a husband… she had somewhere to go.

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**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviews, favorites, and follows. I'm on Tumblr as yetanotheremptypage; come say hi!**


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